If It Bleeds
by doom357
Summary: Trained to take down the Santa Blanca cartel, stood down due to political skullduggery, left without a mission. Now, Los Cazadroes have been sent into the jungle to hunt 'foreign mercenaries'. Soon, The Hunters become the hunted...and the Ghosts will be right behind them.
1. Chapter 1

CH. 1: LOS CAZADORES

 _-Three years ago…_

It was the height of Santa Blanca's incursion into Bolivia. Seemingly overnight, they had come into the country and taken over the local narcotics trade either by force or finance. But, usually it was force. In one night alone the police found the bodies of seven 'buchons' or cartel bosses in a warehouse. They'd all been shot in the head, execution style.

Since then, Santa Blanca had dominated the rest of the 'trade' in Bolivia from production to smuggling. And it was more than just the drugs. They also brought in muscle; a full-blown army of its own. And, thanks to the hundreds of millions they had to throw around, they were able to equip them with quality weapons, not half-rusted hand-me-downs. Kalashnikov AK-12 assault rifles, CZ EVO-3 SMGs, H&K pistols, SAWs and PKM machineguns…and they were well trained in their use.

The Bolivian Army brass were running up against a brick wall when it came to dealing with the Santa Blanca Cartel, or SBC. The regular police forces were getting annihilated. Outmanned, outgunned, and outfought at every turn. Even the military police were no match for them. SBC had automatic weapons, mortars, even armored vehicles and helicopter gunships. The cops had old Crown Vics and Jeeps; pistols and shotguns.

Finally, when La Unidad, 'Unity', was created by merging the military police and special forces units they government had a means of fighting back. But, even then, it was an uphill battle, what with SBC's near constant influx of financing. And their operations seemed to be growing. As did the body count. And not just Unidad or regular military, but civilians were getting caught in the crossfire of the ever-escalating conflict.

Then, a young special forces captain, Esteban Rojas, presented to his superiors a plan. It was simple but had the potential to turn the tide: build an elite, handpicked team of operators, trained overseas and then put through an aggressive training regimen. This crack commando team would then be turned loose on the cartel to conduct search and destroy missions targeting the cartel's infrastructure and leadership. No more pitched battles on the streets, but rather surgical strikes.

Captain Rojas sent fifty handpicked special forces personnel to be trained by the best special operations forces in the world: Navy SEALs, SAS, GSG-9, etc. They would then return to Bolivia, pool their knowledge and train themselves into the ground. Whoever emerged would join the elite unit. At the end of it, nearly half had washed out or suffered crippling injuries, leaving only twenty men, Rojas included, had become a new breed of commando; they had become 'Los Cazadores'.

For a whole year Los Cazadores fought the good fight. They destroyed labs, hit convoys, blew up airfields and took out cartel lieutenants. For a while it seemed like they stood a chance of running the cartel out of Bolivia. Captain Rojas felt that, with additional resources, he could even strike at the head of the snake, El Sueno himself. But then, he received a call: they were standing down. The brass had cut a backroom deal with the cartel: tone down the violence and we'll leave you alone.

Rojas was upset. He had thought the mission was to eliminate the cartel, not reduce them to a 'tolerable' level. He wanted to continue the war. But, he was soldier and he followed his orders. He stretched them where he could, but he never did violate them, at least according to the letter. He'd 'walk' into ambushes that he'd then have to 'fight his way out'. Now, if he had to fight his way through a coca lab in the process, happy coincidence. A few times his superiors threatened a court-martial, but they couldn't without letting onto the deal they had cut with the cartel. He was still punished by being passed over for promotion.

Then, the cartel started to wither. Rebel forces were putting the hurt on them in way his team would've struck. They'd hurt them in other ways as well. At first, Rojas thought that the government was circumventing him and working with the rebels. But, after a few discreet inquiries he learned that was not the case. Several Unidad patrols and a couple bases were hit and even partially destroyed. The bodies of a few rebels were found but, more often than not, no other bodies were found. Same went for SBC bases.

To Rojas, the answer was obvious: someone else was hunting the cartel and giving the rebels the credit. But, who? The American embassy had recently been bombed, so it could be them. Retaliation? It was the only thing that made sense. Then, he received a call…

" _Do you know who I am?"_ The voice on the other end of the line said. He had an obvious _Norteamericano_ accent. Not Bolivian, and not Mexican. He sounded gruff and confident.

"If you're calling me then you know who _I_ am," Rojas replied. He checked the number. He'd seen it on reports about SBC's training program for recruits. "Why are you calling me instead of your bosses?"

" _Because this is something only_ real _operators like ourselves can talk about and deal with. You're a real go-getter, one of the few your country really has. Making you the only one who can take care of this problem we're having."_

"I don't appreciate gringos coming into my country and telling me what to do."

" _Then call your_ esteemed _General,"_ he replied condescendingly, even pronouncing 'general' in a mock Hispanic accent. _"He'll confirm the presence of foreign mercs 'disturbing the peace'. And that_ is _the purpose of this mission. But, if it'll make you feel better…try checking your bank account. Don't worry, it'll pass muster."_

"I will not be bribed!"

" _Call your general, son! These mercs are upsetting the balance and the bloodshed could start anew. But, if you take care of it, SBC will ensure that your family will not want for money. No strings, no nothing. Just quit your bitching and do what you're paid to do."_ And with that the call ended.

Rojas called the general, who confirmed it. He was being ordered to stand-by for rapid deployment. For now, he'd be sent to FOB Jaguar to ready his team. Batches of the newest gear had arrived: suppressor equipped CZ805 assault rifles, Kriss SMGs, FN pistols and H&K LMGs and sniper rifles. They even had a pair of Blackhawks attached to them to fly them to their insertion point.

Intel on who they were facing was lacking, as always. They had a few pictures of men wearing mostly civilian clothes and carrying a variety of weapons. But, who they were and who they were working for was a mystery. Rumor was that the rebels had confiscated a large cache of cartel funds and decided to use that to hire a team of foreign mercenaries to aid their fight against the cartel.

Plausible, but it didn't add up for Rojas. These men seemed to know exactly where to hit and how to hit the cartel. It wasn't random, hit and run guerrilla tactics like how the rebels operated. It was too surgical, this team had backing from somewhere. Backing and support. Again, Rojas couldn't help but assume them to be either Americans or employed by the American government.

Either way, he now had orders to go after them. The irony was not lost on him. Here he was, in command of a unit he had put together and trained for the explicit purpose of taking down the cartel. And now, he was taking that unit to hunt down another team trying to do that exact same thing. And worse, they were essentially doing it to _protect_ the cartel. For the first time, Rojas began to question what he was fighting for.

"We believe they are somewhere in the Caimanes jungle," Colonel Silva explained to Rojas. Silva was a 'regular' recipient of cartel bribes. Last year, Rojas was on the verge of proving that Silva was deliberately trying to sabotage his operations against the cartel when the mission was stood down. Now, he was under Silva's direct command, to protect the colonel's cartel sugar daddies. "A cartel squad was ambushed and one of their choppers shot down. No survivors. Locals report a large volume of gunfire but did not see anyone leaving the jungle."

"They could've moved on," Rojas theorized. If they were professionals then they wouldn't stay in an area where they could be found.

"Then try to pick up their trail," the colonel ordered. "This happened last night so they couldn't have gotten far. Pick up their trail, run them down and kill them."

"You don't want them captured?"

"You know how Santa Blanca 'handles' prisoners, si? Consider this mercy killing." The Colonel stood upright. "You have your orders. Get to it."

As he gathered his men and directed them to the choppers, Rojas vowed this would be his last mission. He'd taken an oath to protect his country from monsters, not help the monsters. This mission was violating that oath. He was a soldier and he'd follow his orders. But, once he got back, he'd be done with it all.

He adjusted his maroon beret as he boarded the lead Blackhawk. His senior sergeant was reviewing the map of their op area and marking waypoints on his GPS unit. Others were securing their thermal imaging/night vision goggles on their helmets or harnesses. These were hardened men, forged by the most difficult training and then tested over and again in countless firefights against the cartel. They could handle anything thrown at them. Instead, they were going to hunt down men who were perhaps trying to do their country a favor. It made Rojas ill.

From what he's heard, the Irish countryside was a nice place.


	2. Chapter 2

CH. 2: MARKED MEN

Nidia was upset about the loss of her 'status'. But, with the promise of a new, protected start in the states, for herself and her daughter, she became more cooperative. Most importantly, Valeria would be safe. For a mother, that was the most important issue. She knew the American woman would use that against her; tried to steal herself against it, but she still went with it. What else could she do?

One of the operators, their leader, woke up that morning as the 'Beauty Queen' going through her last debriefing from Bowman. Her nickname was appropriate for, even at age forty she was certainly worthy eye candy. They'd done some recce of the cartel's training bases the previous night and were trying to sleep it off.

Her daughter, Valeria, was playing on the floor with the doll she had with her when the Ghosts extracted them both earlier in the week. She also had a small doll the man called 'Nomad' had found in an abandoned house. A girl should have more than one, he'd said, so neither doll would be lonely.

"Rise and shine, boss," Midas said as Nomad threw off the wool blanket. He then grabbed his boots and slipped them on. "We've got news."

"Has Sueno called asking to surrender?" Nomad asked sarcastically.

"Unfortunately, no," Midas chuckled. "Nor is he asking to face you down, mano e mano, at high noon in the town square."

"So much for checking that box off." He stood up as Bowman came into the room. Valeria waved at him and smiled. The girl had a warm smile that could melt the ice caps.

"You can go see your mommy now," Bowman said to the girl. "They'll be on a flight out tonight," the CIA field agent said to the soldier. "But we've got bigger problems now." She led him over to her laptop. "This was intercepted last night. It's an operation order for a Unidad black ops team to insert into Caimanes."

"Why there?"

"They've been ordered to track down a team of mercenaries that are 'disturbing the peace'."

"Mercs? You think they mean us?"

"I don't know of anyone else stirring up trouble," she hit a few keys on the computer and brought up a military profile. "A cartel base in the area was raided and the responding patrol ambushed and cut down to the last man."

"Wasn't us, so who was it?"

"Unknown. But, the man in charge of the unit is one Captain Rojas…"

"Esteban Rojas," Nidia spoke up as she entered the room. "One of Bolivia's best soldiers."

"You know him?" Bowman asked, turning to the woman.

"By reputation only. And his work. A few years ago he formed an elite unit trained overseas in Europe and the United States. For a whole year they worked to disrupt Santa Blanca's operations. Even killed a few of my lieutenants." She then turned to Nomad and, for a moment, he thought he saw her cheeks redden a little bit. "You could say he's Bolivia's version of you, senior capitan."

"Flattered," Nomad replied. "Why'd he stop?"

"He was following orders."

"His unit, Los Cazadores, was ordered to stand down when the government cut a deal," Bowman explained. "He didn't like it, but he obeyed."

"And now he's been tasked with hunting us down? That's ironic."

"There's more," Bowman pulled up an audio file. "This is a snippet of a phone intercept off a number Nidia gave us."

"Marcia Escobar," Nidia explained. "One of my local auditors in Caimanes. Mostly administrative work, nothing regarding production or operations. She'd just gather reports and file them for the accountants."

"Numbers runner," Nomad was familiar with the concept. Didn't know enough to compromise the cartel and nothing illegal enough to warrant jail time, just fines and overnight detention at the most.

"Si."

"She's calling her aunt," Bowman explains the background. "Turns out Rojas hired her to guide them to the jungle where they'd operate. That was yesterday, and this was intercepted before dawn this morning…" The recording was faint and broken, not all collection provided crystal clear voice recordings like you see in all the movies. SIGINT wasn't magic.

"… _much blood! Never seen so much blood!"_ A girl, Maria probably, was hysterical.

" _Calm down, princesca…bout the soldiers? Did they…you?"_ An older voice came next, the aunt.

" _No! No! Help me!...ungle moved! …monst…the jungle…"_ And with that the recording ended.

"Interesting," Nomad commented. "Sounds like whoever that squad encountered in the jungle gave them a hell of a fight."

"It's probably worth checking out," Bowman said. "According to the agency, Rojas was trained by the SAS. Others received training from GSG-9, the foreign legion, Poland's GROM and even went through BUD/S. If his team got ambushed and decimated it wasn't because they were sloppy."

"We'll get wheels up and check it out," Nomad said as he went to his weapons crate. "You got the coordinates for that phone call?"

"Already sent to your GPS," Bowman explained. Nomad nodded and went into the front room to brief the team.

"We're redeploying to Caimanes," he said to the Ghosts. "There's a Unidad spec-ops team, Los Cazadores, supposedly out hunting us. But, they've run into a snag."

"A 'snag'?" Holt asked. "Define 'snag'."

"Last night, they may have walked into an ambush or some other firefight. Maybe SB maybe someone else. Their leader, Captain Rojas, put the unit together to combat the Cartel. They're highly trained so whatever trouble they got into is some serious shit."

"Ah," Holt nodded. "That kind of snag."

"So, what's the plan," Weaver asked next. The black sniper finished reassembling his MK14 battle rifle while his MP7A1 lay off to the side. "Are we going to bail them out or finish them off?"

"According to Bowman, Rojas is a patriot and wasn't all that happy about being pulled off his mission to take down the cartel."

"We pull his ass out of the fire and hope he teams up with us?" Holt went on. "That's borderline treason for him, going against his orders and all."

"Right now, this is just a recce," Nomad explained. "We go to Caimanes and contact the person who last saw them. According to her there was a serious fight and several of the soldiers were killed. She sounded freaked out. We go in, take a look-see and play it by ear. We'll try to avoid a firefight with Rojas and his men. But stay frosty."

"It could be a trap, boss," Midas added. "Put a team in, make fake distress calls, draw in the enemy and ambush them."

"Possible. But, it's a big stretch for them to think we'd come to them."

"Point," Midas shrugged. "Just thinking out loud."

"That shit's dangerous for our mental health," Holt chuckled. Midas flipped him the bird.

"I'm more worried about who could be giving these guys such a hard time," Weaver said as he reloaded his rifle. "Besides us, I'm not aware of any other BAMFs in-country."

"The Cartel could've put together an elite hit squad," Holt said out loud. "We know they've got foreign trainers and their head instructor is still an unknown. They could've hired ex-Spetsnaz or some such."

"And what? Turn them loose on Unidad, who they have a 'peace deal' with?" Nomad asked. "Kind of risky. Even if it were to take out Rojas."

"Maybe they thought he went rogue and is the one going around kicking their asses?"

"Again," Nomad said as he picked up his Remington ACR. "We won't know until we get in there." He checked his GPS. "Rebels have secured a medical chopper we can take into the area. We'll also bring a squad of Pac Katari's men to cover our six. If we're gonna walk into a gunfight, I want to bring as many guns as possible."

"Kick the tires and light the fires," Holt said as the team got up and headed for the door.

As they walked out, Nidia cast a glance at Nomad's back. Valeria held her hand and waved bye-bye to the nice American. Nidia could tell her daughter was going to miss him. She herself wasn't sure about him, but she couldn't help but have conflicted feeling about this. On the one hand she hated them for upending her life. On the other, when she and her daughter were marked for death, as a result of their interference, they rescued them from death. Her daughter would be safe. Regardless of the backstory of 'why', she could live with that fact.

Valeria also seemed to like the man called 'Nomad'. She didn't like Sueno and barely seemed to like her own father, now late. But, Nomad seemed to make her little girl smile simply by smiling at her. He even listened to her knock-knock jokes, something Boquita rarely did. Maybe that's what made watching them go so difficult for Nidia. Unknowingly, the man had endeared himself to Valeria and her mother. Perhaps that was why. Or perhaps it was something else.

Something was telling her that what they were flying into was more dangerous than anything Santa Blanca or Unidad could throw around. She could tell from their body language and the tones of their voices that they knew it, too. And yet, they marched ahead with it anyway. If nothing else, she had to respect their bravery and dedication to their job and skillset. It was admirable; romantic even.

"Via com dios," she whispered beneath he breath as the door closed after Nomad exited the hut.

"We'll fly to Caimanes," Nomad said as the Ghosts and a four-man rebel squad loaded up in the commandeered Santa Blanca chopper. "Check in with Bowman for any updates then slip into the jungle. Hopefully we won't draw Rojas' attention with our arrival."

"Still hoping to get a chance to talk to him first?" Midas asked as he manned one of the miniguns. "Maybe arrange a team-up or some back-alley deal where we stay out of each other's way?"

"I wouldn't mind that," Weaver replied as he got in the co-pilot seat. "Let's not forget they have orders to shoot us on sight."

"Weapons tight on the ground, people," Nomad said as they lifted off. "Again, we're just going to take a look and find out what they're up to. After that…" He turned the Blackhawk eastward towards the jungle, "we'll see."


	3. Chapter 3

CH. 3: THE JUNGLE MOVED

 _-Last night…_

Rojas and his men took shelter in an abandoned fishing shack. What was left of his men anyway. Whatever it was that was killing them was better at stealth than anything he'd seen. Even his marksmen, trained by US Marine Scout-Snipers, could hardly see it. And it had to be an 'it'. It moved too fast and climbed trees faster than any man could hope.

When they arrived in the jungle they found it as expected: quiet save for the animals. Their contact, Maria, said something about the predators, such as jaguars and panthers, behaving strangely. They moved quickly and shied away from the deepest parts of the jungle. It was all very strange, but Rojas paid it no heed. She took them to some old ruins where the gunfire had been heard a few days prior.

They found plenty of shell casings and discarded weapons, AKs, machine pistols and handguns. They also found plenty of blood but no bodies. "Corporal?" Rojas called to his tracker as he finished examining the area.

"I don't know what to make of it, jefe," the man replied. "They took up defensive positions, good cover, and were shooting in all directions."

"An ambush?" One of the gunners asked out loud.

"I'm not sure," the scout shook his head. "I've found plenty of bullet holes in the trees and rocks all around. But, no blood, no bodies. Apparently, they hit nothing."

"What do you expect from some cartel putas?" Another trooper chuckled.

"Stow it," Rojas snapped at him. "What about inside the ruins? Where'd the sicarios go?"

"I don't know," the scout said as he examined a fallen AK. It was banged up and scorched as if by a blast furnace. "They all appear to have died here. None ran. It's as if their bodies just disappeared."

"My grandmother said it was the river ghost," Maria said. "She said it was a legend going back to the Inca. If an impure man walked into the jungle, the river ghost would eat their soul and take their spine as a trophy."

"Whatever," Rojas blew it off. At that moment, he spotted something in the trees. Birds. Vultures. "Over there," he pointed it out.

"Something freshly dead is over there," the corporal said as he looked in the same direction. "Perhaps that's where the sicarios went."

"Then let's check it out," Captain Rojas said. And with that, they moved out.

"Puta madre," one of the soldiers muttered as they came across something from out of their nightmares. It was a body of what used to be a man. Only, he was naked; and suspended by his feet; and he'd been skinned. And he was also missing his skull _and_ his spine. Just like the girl said.

"We need to leave, jefe," a sergeant spoke up. "Whoever did this is a mad-man. We'll need reinforcements…"

"Nonsense!" Rojas snapped. "We're Los Cazadores! The hunters! We will find whoever did this and-!" He was cut off when something bright and hot slammed into the sergeant's back. Both fell to the ground, the NCO dead and Rojas scrambling for cover. Several of his men were firing into the jungle.

Off to the side, Maria and several of the soldiers watched in horror as _something_ in the jungle moved. It moved! The jungle itself appeared to move up to one of the soldiers and, with barley a sound, their soldier's head came clean off. Maria screamed and ran further into the jungle, the soldiers with her shouted after her before racing to catch her.

Rojas recalled his men to a rock formation. They peeled off, one squad laying down cover fire while the other two moved. Then, another took up position and provided cover. They moved like this until they were within the depression. "Where is he?" Rojas asked. "Where's the shooter?"

"Nothing!"

"No visual!"

"Nada over here, jefe!"

"Up high!" A sniper shouted out before cracking off a pair of rounds from his PSG-1. A blue bolt of energy lanced out from a tree and vaporized his head.

"It's using the trees!" A sergeant called out. "We're in the open!"

"Fall back!" Rojas called out. "By pairs! Keep up the suppressing fire! Into the thick brush! Vamanos!"

They ran. They provided cover fire. Some got separated. Others got cut down. Two held back to make a stand and give their comrades a chance to escape; they didn't last long. Their screams chilled Rojas' blood. Now, as darkness was falling, the surviving Cazadores were hiding from some demon that was hunting them.

First, Rojas thought they could swim across the river, maybe lose this hunter that way. But, the river was swollen and with storm clouds gathering the water would only get worse. Furthermore, he had several wounded with him. And that was a point he drove home to his men during training, a motto borrowed from the American Rangers, "never leave a man behind". He would not abandon any of his wounded, either as bait, or because they'd slow them down. No, they'd all get out together or go out fighting together.

Somewhere, a young girl watched in horror as four black ops soldiers were killed in front of her very eyes by a jungle demon. It's eyes glowed as it towered over her, taller than any man. But, instead of stealing her soul and taking her spine as a trophy, it left her alone.

That's when she brought out her phone to call her aunt. She could barely talk, though and ended up just sitting there, praying the monster would not come back.

XXXXX

 _-The following day…_

"There's the LZ," Weaver said as the safe house came into view.

"Looks like we've got a mean storm inbound," Holt added. "Just in time, too. Would not like to be flying through that."

"We'll give it a few hours, before we head out," Nomad said as he began their decent. "Hopefully that storm will pass."

"Think those Unidad guys will be overnighting in the jungle?" Midas spoke up. "After their firefight?"

"If they're as tough as any SOCOM guys, maybe," Weaver said. "You don't go through all the training they did by being a pussy."

Inside the safe house, Nomad double checked the coordinates. They weren't far, they could walk it; SB hardly patrolled the roads here. Too rough and checkpoints in the jungle were notoriously vulnerable to ambushes; either by jungle predators or men such as themselves. They also gathered the four rebels and asked about the area. One said there were rumors of a creature called 'el Cuco' stalking the jungle.

"What's an el Cuco?" Weaver asked as he adjusted his molle harness. "Is that like a Chupacabra, or something."

"No, senior," one of the rebels, Manuel, responded. "El Cuco is what you Yanquis would call the 'bogeyman'."

"Sleep child, sleep now…" Another rebel, Jorge, began to sing. "Here comes el Cuco and he will eat you…"

"Charming," Holt said, bringing the conversation back to ground level. "So, how do we go about finding Rojas or this 'Cujo'?"

"Cuco," Jorge corrected. "And we know where to find the girl, Maria," he then walked over to the map. "There's a foot path that follows the river, out of sight of the cartel camp. They're still repairing damage you did to their sub pen."

"Glad to hear it," Nomad said. He checked his watch as thunder rumbled in the distance. "Sounds like the storm is getting closer." He took a deep breath. "Well, we'd best get moving. Doesn't sound like the storm is going to go around us and I don't fancy waiting out the storm." The others nodded and gathered their gear.

Three of the rebels grabbed folding stock AKs the fourth grabbed a beat up old Mini-14 rifle. Nomad noticed they checked them and ensured their actions were smooth and they had a full combat load in their pouches. Pac Katari's training of his men had improved. One of the rebels with an AK also had a Walther P38 in a tanker holster. Old, but still serviceable. "Let's roll," Nomad said as they exited the hut.

The rebels led the way to the main road and then to a foot path that cut into the jungle. They followed it around, ducking under some vines before they came to the river. There, they took a small fishing boat around the bend in the river to just a few hundred meters from where the girl, Maria, had called from. "Fan out," Nomad said as they snuck ashore, the sky beginning to darken as the storm approached. "Eyes out and ears open but stay low." The others nodded, and they pushed into the brush, rifles kept at the low ready.

As they moved forward they heard the typical jungle sounds: birds cawing, insects buzzing, small critters crawling about. Thankfully, they heard nothing large, like a jaguar or some other predator. They had enough to worry about with two-legged man-killers…

As they approached they could hear crying up ahead. Nomad raised his fist to call a halt. Everyone scanned their sectors in case there was an ambush set up. Seeing and hearing no sign, Nomad crept forward a few feet until he spied something in the bush. Something had stained some of the plants and dirt dark red. He pushed aside a large frond and saw a Unidad soldier lying face down in the mud. His back looked like someone had taken a couple whacks at it with a machete.

"I've got a body here," he whispered over the radio as the other ghosts moved forward; the rebels held their positions.

"There's more on the rocks," Weaver observed. Nomad slowly stood up and stepped around the boulders. He indeed saw three more bodies on the rocks. Two looked similar to the first, badly cut up while the third seemed to have had his whole chest blown open by a small explosion. He then came to the source of the sobbing, a young woman wearing beige clothing stained red with blood.

"Miss?" Nomad called to her as he knelt down. "What happened here?"

"I…I don't know…" She sputtered out, her eyes glazed over, not looking at anything or anyone in particular. "It-it killed them. It killed them all!"

"'It'?" Nomad asked as he looked around. Midas took up position uphill of him. Weaver kept watched from the brush with the rebels and Holt moved down to the river to keep an eye out for SBC boats. "You mean 'he'?"

"No," she shook her head forcefully. "'It'. La jungle. The jungle in Caimanes! It came alive, reached down and took them to infierno!" Superstitious mumbo-jumbo, Nomad thought.

"How'd you get away?"

"I didn't," she said holding her head between her knees. "It did not hurt me. El monstruo could feel I was no threat." And with that she returned to her sobbing, clammed up and retreated further back into the rocks. Nomad, figuring he would get anything else from her stood up.

"What now, boss?" Holt asked as they pulled up from the river.

"Find any firing positions?" The commander asked them. "How many ambushed these four?"

"Zip," Midas explained. "I'm seeing plenty of shell casings around the Unidad guys, and along their trail," he pointed to muddy boot prints. "But, nothing that shows where they enemy could've been."

"It looks like they were cut down as they ran," Weaver added. "But, from where? From who?" Nomad turned to one of the rebels.

"Jorge," he said to him. "Any idea on where this Unidad patrol might have come from?"

"If they were looking to hole up somewhere overnight," Jorge replied as he looked to the dirt in thought, "I'd make for the old ruins. They're small but would make good ground to defend." He then pointed further east. "It's not far, not even a kilometer."

"In this bush," Midas observed. "Might as well be ten miles."

"No choice," Nomad said as he looked to the Unidad troops. He saw a lot of shell casings, like Midas said, but no clue as to who or how many had taken them out. _'It doesn't make sense.'_ "Let's move," the captain said as he led his team into the dense jungle, thunder rumbling in the distance. None knew what they'd find in there. Neither could they imagine what would find _them_.


	4. Chapter 4

CH. 4: STRANGE, AND FAMILIAR, EVIDENCE

As they crept through the jungle, Nomad couldn't help but think of the stories his dad and uncles told of Vietnam and their LRRP patrols with some of the original Ranger companies. One in particular, from Uncle Schaefer, in Cambodia, kept him on toes regarding ambush.

Their one saving grace was that they were not on any establish path, meaning it was unlikely they were walking into a pre-planned ambush. _"If you can find a path,"_ his uncle told him, _"stay off it. The enemy will be watching it, too."_

Somewhere, in this jungle, was a Unidad unit of highly trained operators who no doubt knew this jungle better than anyone else. And, if what they knew about their 'orders' they'd be on search and destroy for any armed men not wearing the same uniform. Add in the unknown opponent said unit ran into, and apparently killed an unknown number of the men, and the odds were not stacking up in the ghost's favor.

They crossed a dirt road, sprinting across in case an SB were watching. No rounds came their way, though, and they resumed the search on the other side. Jorge quickly found the trail and, sure enough, it led towards some old ruins half concealed by jungle overgrowth. Nomad signaled for everyone to spread out. It looked like no one was home but, one could not be too careful.

As he approached, Nomad noticed the size of the stone slabs, which looked like large boulders cut into rectangular shape and weathered by centuries of rain fall. It reminded him of some episodes of this one TV show that suggested that ancient man couldn't have built such things. Nomad wasn't sure about that, but the size of these things…

He came around the corner of the structure as Midas moved up to cover him. What he saw made him stop in his tracks. Piled up against the rock were bones; human bones. Rib cages, legs, arms, hands and other small, unidentifiable bones. All haphazardly tossed into a pile as if someone were dumping garbage. Then, as he continued on he saw something even more barbaric.

On a stone slab, just underneath an overhang, he saw what could only be described as an arcane altar. Human skulls were arranged in some sort of shrine, minus candles or other decorations. And, hanging above them, were more skulls along with their spinal columns, like some kind of demonic windchimes. "Jesus," Nomad exhaled as he took it all in. "You guys seeing this?" It looked like someone in Santa Blanca was taking their 'worship' of Sante Meurta a little too seriously.

"No way a machete did _that_ ," Midas observed. "Too surgical. Too clean." Nomad could only nod in agreement. Whoever did this, was as methodical as they were psychotic.

"Dios mio," one of the rebels crossed himself. "Ha venido! El Cuco ha llegado!"

"Easy, amigo!" Nomad snapped at him. Fear could be contagious and more dangerous to a patrol than bullets. "Keep it tight, people," he said as they backed away from the site. "If this is why Rojas was called out here we might be walking into a shit storm."

"Capitan!" One of the rebels called out. Nomad marched over to where, Manuel, the rebel with the Mini-14 was kneeling on part of the structure. As he came up to him Nomad heard the weirdest sounding woodpecker in his life. He ignored it and knelt next to the rebel. "Over there." He pointed through the trees. "Vultures." Sure enough, a large flock of the carrion eating birds were fluttering about.

"I see it," Nomad nodded before signaling everyone to move out. As they headed out he scanned the area, looking for any sign of Rojas or his men. He saw shell casings but no blood and no other sign.

It looked as if Rojas had come across this place and came under attack, then pushed on further into the jungle, while a handful of his men, plus Maria, got separated and raced towards the river. But, again, there was no sign of their attackers. Looking up, he did see a few bullet marks in the trees a good thirty feet up. But, who or what could they have been shooting at?

Nomad hopped down from the stone and moved up to join his team. He paused next to Weaver. "Keep an eye out," he said as he scanned the trees. "I'm getting a feeling we're being watched."

"Something I've noticed," the sniper said to him. "The birds have quieted down." Nomad paused to listen and sure enough, no birds. A few rain drops began to fall on the group, but the storm had not yet arrived.

"I'm beginning to think Rojas and his men came here looking for trouble," Nomad said as they moved past some bamboo. "And instead trouble found them and they got decimated."

"Think they're still here somewhere?" Mida asked next.

"If they are, they're probably holed up somewhere with wounded," Nomad said as they came up on the vultures which scattered at their arrival. He walked up and saw a lot of blood all over the ground and brush. It looked like something, or someone got shot up good. All over the place, too.

"Uhh…boss?" Holt said nervously. Nomad looked over at him and saw his eyes, as well as the rebels, were looking up into the trees.

He followed their gaze and shot to his feet as he saw, hanging no more than twelve feet above him, a corpse. But this was not like the ones they had found. This one had been _skinned!_ He looked around and counted at least _six_ bodies hanging, upside down, from vines from the trees above them like field dressed deer. They had all been skinned! "What the fuck happened to them!?" He asked.

"I've seen the cartel do some sadistic shit," Midas groaned out loud. "But this?" But, it didn't make any sense. Sure, they had seen locals strung up by the cartel. But, those had been from street lamps and power poles. And they weren't skinned or hanging by their feet. They'd been hung 'traditionally' and left in public areas as warnings. This wasn't anywhere the civilians could see so it couldn't have been a warning. This was something else.

"You sure it's the cartel?" Nomad asked, as he wondered why this felt familiar. He could've sworn he heard of something like this before. But, where?

"Who else?" At that, Nomad heard the woodpecker again. This time, it sounded closer and sounded more like clicking. He turned around and scanned the jungle but saw nothing. He definitely felt like they were being watched.

"Stick with the trail," he walked up to Jorge. "Hey," he placed his hand on the rebel. "We're gonna find the piece of shit that did this and kill him. Okay?" Jorge nodded. "You with us, amigo?"

"Si," Jorge said, trying his best to summon his courage. "Si, senior." He then went back to scanning the brush. Again, they found more shell casings but this time they found weapons. They had blood splattered on them but were still functional. Not damaged or disassembled.

"This doesn't make sense," Holt spoke up as he hefted a CZ 805 with its suppressor still attached. "If the cartel did this they certainly would've taken the guns. Who would wipe out a Unidad squad, hang them from trees like deer and just leave good guns lying about?"

"The trail leads to the river, amigo," Jorge said.

"Let's check it out," Nomad said as they moved down the slope.

They came to the river and followed along it until they lost the trail in the weeds. The rain was coming down harder now and the lightning and thunder were just about upon them. "The rain is gonna wash away the trail," Jorge observed. "I'm not sure where they could've gone…"

"Look!" Another rebel called out. "Across there!" He pointed across the river. The ghosts looked across the waterway and saw something just uphill from the opposite bank, concealed by vegetation. They couldn't make out what it was, though.

"I can't see it clearly," Nomad said. "Let's check it out," he then turned to Jorge. "You guys take up position here. Watch our six." The rebel nodded and signaled the other three to take cover behind large trees. "Let's go for a swim."

The river wasn't especially wide at this point and the current fairly gentle. If they were going to swim it, they'd have to be quick before the rain water flooded it and made it suicide to take a dip. Thankfully, they were across in less than five minutes. They slowly crawled up the bank in case they were coming upon the Unidad squad.

Something moved in the brush ahead of them, forcing them to pause. They held their position for a few minutes, slowly scanning their flanks with their peripheral vision. When nothing else moved they resumed their approach. After they reached the jungle proper they rose up and moved inland. There was a clicking sound nearby but Nomad hardly paid it any heed.

But, when they broke through the brush, what they saw was no Unidad squad nor their vehicle. And it wasn't another pre-Columbian ruin, either. His heart pounding and his breath ragged, Nomad slowly walked along the object until he came to some moss covered stone slabs. The other ghosts walked around it, too, their eyes fixated on the…thing. "Uh, guys?" Nomad spoke quietly as he examined the sleek, metallic object before them, partially hidden beneath vines and jungle brush. "What on Earth am I lookin' at here?"

"That…" Midas stopped himself from saying 'spaceship'. "Is that real?"

"In what sense?" Nomad was beginning to think that whatever Rojas and his men had run into, it was not from this world. Now _that_ was a crazy thought. And, for some reason, he thought of his uncle Shaefer.

"Fuck if I know!" As soon as Midas said that they heard a roar from across the river, back near the rebels.

"Shit," Nomad swore. He then heard muffled shouting and what sounded like a pistol being fired in the distance. They weren't just being followed. They were being stalked and someone had just been ambushed back across the river. _'But, what could be stalking us?'_

And that's when it hit him. Uncle Shaefer, known to his former army buddies as 'Dutch', had once told him a scary campfire story. About a monster that lived to hunt dangerous men. It was invisible unless it wanted to be seen. It took trophies of the dangerous men it killed, but, more than anything, it desired a worthy challenge. This demon, as he had known it, did not kill for pleasure or even food. It hunted for the thrill of chasing a dangerous and skillful prey.

The story even told of how the demon would skin its victims, leave no trace of its presence but leave the weapons of the ones it had killed. Nomad suddenly realized that Uncle Shaefer wasn't just telling him a ghost story. He was warning him of an enemy. An enemy his uncle had to have fought once upon a time. The things they found in this jungle, the points of the story…they all matched up. Uncle Shaefer had called this demon a 'Hunter' and 'Predator'.

And now, it seemed one of it's kind was here…in this jungle…and it was waiting for them!


	5. Chapter 5

CH. 5: HUNTED

 _-Five minutes prior…_

Rojas and the last of his men tried to stick to the thick undergrowth as they moved through the jungle. Counting the wounded, there were only ten of them left and he was determined to get them out of this jungle. To hell with what his orders were, they didn't account for a jungle demon stalking and slaughtering his men. The sun would be setting soon, a storm was rolling in, he'd lost half of his unit and the rest had been run ragged over the past forty-eight hours.

Whatever the hell was out here, Santa Blanca or whoever else was operating in the jungle was welcomed to it. But, he was saving his men.

The lead scout held up a hand. Movement. Up ahead. Multiple unknowns. They dropped to the ground, their medic staying with the wounded. Rojas crawled forward to the scout. They could barely see through the brush, but they made out at least one rebel moving down to the river. As much as he would've liked to have an even fight, Rojas knew he was in no position to get into a fight, even with untrained rebels.

He signaled his men to move around behind the group up ahead. With the rain coming down it helped to mask their movement. As they moved around they came to some rocks. That's when he heard the clicking sound. The clicking always indicated when the demon was near. He quickly called a halt. Looking over his shoulder he saw that the rebels were watching the river and had not taken notice of his men, some of whom had moved to the river to cover the rebels from their flank.

That's where he'd heard the clicking coming from! His men were being flanked by the demon! That's when he saw the demon, the jungle wrapped around it, drop amongst his men with a mighty roar, "GRAAARRR!" One of his men shouted before being cut off mid-scream. Two more were cut down as Rojas and his men fired into the brush, their suppressed weapons cutting through the flora. Rojas' Five-seveN locked back on an empty magazine after seven rounds.

"Retreat!" He called to his men. He then grabbed one of the wounded while the medic grabbed the other. "Head south!" He knew there was a road up ahead. If he could get there he and his men could commandeer a vehicle and get out of there. And by the time they reached a base he'd have the first draft of his resignation brain-stormed.

As his men raced after their leader he heard more screaming as they scrambled through the brush and rocks. The demon was giving chase. And it was not a fair game…

XXXXX

Nomad tried to remember as much of Uncle Shaefer's story as they swam back across the river. The rebels were right where they had left them and had heard the roar, too. Jorge pointed in the direction it came from, "Down river," he explained.

"Back the way we came?" Nomad asked.

"Si," he nodded. "We also heard shouting. Panicked voices."

"Gunfire?"

"Some," Jorge nodded. "But not very loud."

"Suppressed weapons?" Holt asked. "Rojas' men?"

"Could they have been following us?" Midas asked next. "Or were they trying to get out of the jungle?"

"Without their guide, they could get turned around," Weaver added.

"Cut the chatter," Nomad ordered. "Check your weapons and keep an eye out. We've probably got hostiles within ear shot." He then led the way down the river. The rain had let up, but only briefly. A quick glance at the sky revealed it was just a short break before the real rain arrived.

As they approached the area where Jorge said the shouting came from Nomad saw something amongst the undergrowth. He stepped forward and saw that it was another body. Another body was just up ahead, too. They hadn't been there when they came through. Rojas and his squad had to have moved around behind them, either to ambush them or sneak past.

Either way, whatever was in the jungle with them had gotten the drop on them. And, judging by the bodies and shell casings, it was in hot pursuit. As he moved up to check the other body he spotted something on a frond. It was a fluid; a green, glowing fluid. At first, he thought that a chemlight had been broken and spilled. "I got a visual on…something," he said as his squad came up to his position.

"What's the consistency?" Midas asked.

"You think I'm touchin' it?" He asked rhetorically. "It almost looks like…" Just then he recalled another point form his uncle's story about the hunter demon: it oozed a green glow when cut. "…blood." As he got older, Uncle Shaefer shared his wisdom, accumulated over a thirty-year career. One of his 'Shaeferisms' was not to let an enemy drive fear into you. _"Remember…if it bleeds…"_

"Whatever it is," Midas chimed in as he scanned ahead with Weaver, "it bleeds. And if it bleeds…"

"…We can kill it," Nomad said as his uncle's voice rang in his head. He stood up and stared into the jungle ahead.

He'd heard clicking several times and remembered more of the story. Clicking meant it was watching you. This thing was in the jungle with them. Once it was finished with Rojas and his men it would be coming after them. Screw that. Nomad figured if they sat around waiting for it to come to them they'd be cut down and killed. Then skinned and their skulls and spines taken for trophies. Fuck that.

The way he figured, if they wanted to kill this thing, to survive it, they'd have to hunt _it_. Maybe, if they caught up to Rojas in time, whatever was left of his team could help even the odds. "Rally up," Nomad said, making a circling motion with his finger. "Keep your eyes out. If you see _anything_ strange, call it out and be ready to open fire."

"Roger," Weaver replied. And with that, the group moved forward, following the blood trail. Lightning flashed behind him, followed by thunder a couple seconds later. The storm was almost on top of them.

As they followed the trail they found more of the same. Spent shell casings, green blood and dead Unidad troops. Midas and Holt checked the troops over as the rebels and Weaver scanned the trail ahead. Nomad kept an eye on the trees. He saw more bullet marks and more of that green blood on the rocks. Rojas men may have been in retreat, but they were putting up a fight.

"Boss," Holt spoke up from his position. "Check it out," he tossed him some goggles. "These Unidad guys may be running black on ammo," meaning they were either out or running out, "but they've got some neat gadgets." Nomad looked through them. "Look like combination night-vision, infrared thermal goggles. Just one flip of a switch…" Nomad switched them on.

"These will come in handy," he said. He then adjusted the strap on the headband and mounted it over his boonie hat. "If you find anymore, use them," he said to the team. "Whatever's out there, it's going to be hard to see."

Up ahead, they heard more roaring along with pistol shots. Rojas and his men were just up ahead, still running, still fighting. "Move up," Nomad ordered. "But watch your fire." They moved forward and bounds, two ghosts and two rebels would move, covered by the others. Then, the other four would move up. They moved quicker than they had coming into the jungle. But, with potential 'almost'-friendlies engaged with an unknown enemy up ahead, they thought it best to catch up quick.

Nomad passed a log with a lot of green on it. For a moment, he thought that maybe the Unidad team would kill this thing. But, he kept passing more bodies. One was obviously a combat medic, his body still cradling an SMG that had been blasted in two by something hot and powerful. He recalled that Rojas' team, Los Cazadores, had about two dozen soldiers. Counting the ones they'd seen in the trees, the bodies surrounding Maria and the one's they passed so far…Rojas was just about out of men. "Pick up the pace," he said to the team.

"We got a road coming up," Midas said. "I think…wait. I got contact on the other side of the road." Nomad reached Midas next to a boulder. He looked across and saw a lone Unidad soldier standing on a boulder on the other side of the deserted road. He was armed with a pistol…and alone…

They were all dead. Los Cazadores. The Hunters. They were supposed to be the best in his country's military. The saviors of Bolivia, destined to become legends, the SEAL Team Six of South America! But…now, they were all dead. Cut down to the last man…which was Captain Esteban Rodriguez Rojas. It was too painful for him. Here he was, only one magazine in his sidearm, the last of his men dead at his feet.

The weather finally turned to match his mood. The rain rolled in, pelting him on the head and back soaking into his beret and uniform. There would be no glorious retirement for him. There'd be no embarrassing decommissioning and exile. Hell, there may not even be a posthumous award for him. He would rate nothing except a modest grave, assuming his body would be recovered. Assuming a search would even be made for his and his men's bodies.

They'd failed to make their mark on the world. Just another group of soldiers brought together in a happy little experiment that had failed to meet expectations. No. His men didn't fail. They rose to every challenge they were given. It was Rojas who had failed them. It was Rojas who had failed to bring them to the victory they deserved against the cartel. It was he who failed to lead them out of this hell. He'd failed…

Movement! Across the road! He saw two rebels, joined by at least two other men, wearing tactical gear. Were these the men he was originally sent to hunt down? If so…maybe they could…

Something landed behind him. He already knew what it was and knew he was dead even before he felt the blades puncturing his kidneys…

The ghosts watched as something _big_ dropped behind the Unidad officer, stabbed into his back and lifted him clear off the ground, screaming in pain. "What the fuck is that!?" Nomad shouted out loud as the Unidad soldier was dropped onto the boulder. The thing, whatever it was, must've heard his shout. It looked up, saw the other team just as Nomad took aim and looked at it through the ACOG scope on his rifle.

The thing jumped several meters up and to the side, latching onto a tree and climbing up into the canopy before anyone could fire. "Move up!" Nomad ordered as he broke cover and sprinted across the road. His feet splashed through the puddles that were already beginning to form from the rain.

He climbed onto the boulder just as he team reached him, taking up covering positions, careful to watch the branches above them. No easy task given the rainfall that was enshrouding everything beyond fifty yards. He knelt next to the officer and rolled him over. "It's Rojas!" He then checked him over.

"Por…por favor…" Rojas muttered weakly.

"Esteban Rojas," Nomad said to him. "I'm sorry we couldn't get to you or your men in time…" He whispered softly to the man. "We hoped…we wanted to help…"

"…favor…" Rojas weakly motioned for him to lean in closer. "Demon…kill…a-avenge…my men…" And with that his eyes rolled back into his head, and Captain Esteban Rojas lost his battle against death.

"He's gone," Nomad said as he stood up.

He judged Rojas' height to be just a few inches shorter than himself. But, the thing that killed him had not only towered over him but raised him well above Nomad's height. That meant it had to be at least seven feet tall. And packed with muscle like a overstuffed duffel bag. But, that wasn't the worst of it…

He looked over the site. It was clear that Los Cazadores had been killed to the last man by this…predator. This hunter from another world. The Hunters had been hunted down and slaughtered. And, if they didn't act soon, the Ghosts would be next.

He heard clicking coming from the jungle around him…

Now, _they_ were being hunted.


	6. Chapter 6

CH. 6: GHOSTS VS PREDATOR

Nomad quickly surveyed their surroundings. Even in the rain, they were exposed. He had a feeling that, in this 'extraterrestrial, high-tech version of _The Most Dangerous Game',_ that the primary antagonist would have no problem locating them in the rain. If they stayed out in the open, they'd end up on the old smorgasbord.

Not the least bit ideal under any circumstances, let alone when your being hunted down by an extraterrestrial with a hard-on for big game hunting of armed men. "We need cover," Nomad announced, hopping down from the rock as lightning flashed overhead. "Now." He turned to Jorge. "What's the best way out that is _not_ exposed?" Jorge was breathing heavily, but quickly collected himself.

"Si, si," he took some deep breaths. "That way," he pointed down a small ravine. "Lots of boulders and thick brush. Difficult going but…should provide good cover."

"Excellent," Nomad clapped him on the shoulder.

"But, there is a…a clearing near there…not good for…" he glanced up at the trees.

"We'll cross that bridge when we get to it," Nomad said. "Move out. Stay frosty. If you see something big and mean…don't hesitate." He paused for effect. "It won't."

The rain continued steadily, not in a massive downpour, but in a measured accumulation. It was if the weather had turned to make the situation all that more dramatic. The occasional lighting and thunder was just icing on this blood-soaked cake. Nevertheless, Nomad continued to lead the team down the ravine.

True to Jorge's word, it wasn't the most easily traversed terrain, but, it was closed in and the vegetation offered good concealment while the rocks provided solid cover. He called a stop when he heard that clicking sound again. Everyone threw themselves against something solid and scanned their sectors, overlapping their fields of fire. Nomad searched ahead, seeing nothing but heard rustling in the brush next to him.

He turned and saw a bush move as if someone had run past it but, when he looked over he saw nothing. But, he still heard the clicking. As he slowly stood up he heard movement off to the side and a rebel cut loose with a long burst from his AK. "Check fire!" Holt shouted as he ducked near the rebel, who fired right by his head. "Check fire!"

"Lo siento, amigo," he apologized. "I-I…I thought I saw…"

"Everyone take a deep breath," Nomad ordered. "It's toying with us. Probing us." He then moved up to the edge of the rocks. "It's trying to provoke us into breaking cover."

"How do you know, man?" Midas asked as he crawled under a ledge.

"Because it's a hunter," the captain said. "It's checking us out. It's not going to start popping off shots at us. It'll wait till it has a good shot."

"So, what do we do?" Weaver asked as he scanned their rear with his rifle. "We can't just sit here."

"We keep moving until we get to ground we can fight on," Nomad said as he moved forward. "We follow these rocks and stone slabs." He turned on his night vision and looked ahead. "We might be able to find something by those big trees, just past this knoll."

"Hell," Holt remarked. "I'm fine with anything as long as we start fighting. Getting sick of this hide and seek bullshit."

"Then let's get on with it," Nomad said as he motioned for them to move out.

They kept moving along the ravine, up the knoll and crested it slowly. Nomad and the ghosts crawled over it on their bellies, pulling themselves through the mud as the storm continued to pass overhead. Meanwhile the rebels slowly duck walked through the brush. Up ahead, they saw a collection of stone slabs or boulders next to a pair of thick trees, surrounded by close bundles of bamboo. It sat in a small depression just off to the side of a clearing.

Nomad realized this was the clearing Jorge was referring to. But, as he rose to his knees he felt the hairs on his neck perk up. Something was off about that clearing. It looked too inviting. Hell, the whole site looked too inviting. _'No,'_ he said to himself as he reoriented himself towards the clearing. The ghosts seemed to pick up on his unease. Something wasn't right here.

Nomad looked through his ACOG scope at the clearing, which sat on top of an even larger knoll. Perfect spot for either an ambush or… He spotted something. It looked almost like a mirage. But, mirages don't occur in rain storms. Nor do they take on the shape of a man. Suddenly, as lightning lit up the clearing, the mirage shifted into solid form. It was here!

"GRRAAAR!" The creature howled in challenge as it darted to the side, cloaking itself.

' _It's here,'_ Nomad said to himself. "Kill it!" As a group they rose to their feet and began to scan in three hundred and sixty degrees.

"We're exposed up here, boss," Midas said. As if to prove his point, a trio of laser beams landed on his shoulder.

"Midas! Drop!" Nomad shouted as everyone hit the deck. A strange sound echoed as a blue bolt of energy zipped past the ghost, who ducked just in time. The bolt continued before blasting a hole in the mud twenty yards off. Holt and two rebels returned fire in the general direction the bolt came from. "Cover! Get to cover!" Nomad shouted as he dashed for the boulders. The others soon followed.

"Form up!" He ordered. "Cardinal points! Weapons free!" He shifted his boonie hat and felt the goggles he was wearing. Working off a hunch, he flipped on the thermal imaging. He scanned around and saw something moving behind a tree. He flipped the goggles up and saw nothing. He flipped them back down and saw it again. It was faint, like a classic ghost image. And it was big. "Target!" He opened up, firing into the 'apparition' with his rifle. He saw bright glowing fluid splatter the tree and a pained roar as the creature jumped up and away.

"What the fuck!?" Midas swore as he swung around, too late to fire.

"Thermal!" Nomad ordered. "Everyone, switch to thermal! Look for a blurry apparition!" He then turned to the rebels. "You guys shoot where we shoot!"

"No!" One of them shook his head. "We should run!" He got up and broke cover.

"Enrique!" Jorge shouted to him. "Come back!" Red lasers appeared and tracked Enrique.

"Contact right!" Holt shouted. Nomad tracked the beams and saw the creature, glowing in thermals. He brought his rifle to bear just as it fired. Rifle fire from Holt and Nomad hit the thing and it roared, rolled away, cloaked itself and disappeared into the bamboo nearby.

"Enrique's down!" Weaver said. "Took it full on."

"Brother!" A rebel shouted as he ran to Enrique. "Brother!"

"Rico!" Jorge shouted at the rebel.

"Goddamnit!" Nomad shouted as he heard a strange mechanical whirling sound. "Get him back-!" Something flew past his head and sliced right through the rebel's neck in mid stride. His body fell to the ground, his head rolled right up to Enrique's corpse. "Contact rear!" Nomad spun around and opened up into the brush just as he saw something jump into the trees. He and Midas poured fire into the canopy before they reloaded.

"What the hell is this thing?" Midas asked.

" _Is that real?"_ A garbled, imitation of Midas' voice echoed around them.

"Fuck!" Midas threw his body back against a rock and fired into a cluster of bamboo. The creature roared and took off into the brush. "Did it just fucking talk!? In my voice!?"

"Cool it!" Nomad ordered. "Everyone, get into the rocks and watch your sectors." He grabbed Jorge and pushed him back. "You two keep your ears open. This thing may turn invisible, but it still makes a racket moving around."

"El Cuco," Manuel kept muttering. "El Cuco…El Cuco…Nos matara a todos…"

"Tranquillo!" Jorge snapped at him. "Eres un hombre. Luchar como un hombre, no como un cobarde." The rebel nodded hesitantly, but Nomad could tell he was trying not to cry. He didn't blame him. This thing was like something from a nightmare.

"Just stay calm and fight like you know," Nomad said. "We stay together, we stand a chance."

" _We can kill it!"_ The thing called out to his side.

Nomad saw the lasers and threw himself backwards just in time for the plasma bolt to race past his face. "Frag out!" He shouted as he pulled a grenade from his vest, and in one movement, pulled the pin and tossed it over the boulder and towards the creature. A couple seconds later it exploded and the beast shrieked, taking off right past the trees in front of Nomad. He snapped his rifle up as he, Midas and Jorge fired after it. Most of their rounds missed but a few hit it, splattering the leaves with more green blood.

"Christ!" Midas swore. "What's it gonna take to kill this bastard?"

"Just keep it up!" Nomad said as he reloaded.

"Target!" Weaver called out, snapping off a pair of rifle rounds up at the knoll. The alien roared as at least one round hit its shoulder. "Damn, this thing's fast."

Nomad got back to his post, with Jorge right beside him. For a few moments, it was quiet in the jungle. The only thing that kept Nomad from thinking the thing was dead was the occasional clicking and rustling of bushes.

"Did we drive it off?" Holt asked as he carefully peaked over a slab. His rifle tracked his line of sight, ready to put fire down on anything he saw.

' _No,'_ the ghost leader said to himself as lighting illuminated the jungle. _'It's re-evaluating its options,'_ Nomad realized. It was coming up with a new strategy.

Suddenly, a plasma bolt slammed into the rocks behind him, sending him and Jorge flying to the grass. Nomad's rifle was thrown from his grasp and lost in a thicket of brush. The other ghosts hit the deck. When Nomad looked back he saw Manuel being hoisted into the air by the massive creature, jagged blades on its wrist imbedded into Manel's sternum, hoisting him high.

It dropped the rebel as it saw Nomad pulling out his MP7. The ghost fired as the alien leapt onto the rocks and raced into the jungle. Nomad got to his feet as Jorge gasped. "Look out, Amigo!" The rebel pushed Nomad back to the ground only to catch the plasma blast meant for the ghost leader; his head disappeared in a mist of red blood and skull fragments.

As he raised his head, Nomad saw cloaked feet approaching him. He withdrew his combat knife, a Benchmade SOCP dagger, spun it on his finger into an icepick hold, rotated his hand and thrust it upward. He was aiming for where he hoped the femoral artery was and it imbedded into the creature's inner left thigh, causing it to bellow in pain. It then kicked Nomad into the tree behind him, knocking the wind from his lungs. The ghost drew his Springfield M1911A1 TRP and fired three rounds into the beast as the other ghosts got back up and opened up from two other directions.

The alien spun around the other tree and out of the line of fire. This time, it was slower, what with a dagger stuck in its groin area. Nomad holstered his pistol as he got back to his feet, and, after failing to locate either his rifle or SMG, picked up Jorge's AKM. He grabbed magazines from the brave rebel and rejoined his men. He spotted movement as the creature tried to break contact and get distance. "Contact left!" He shouted a she fired at the retreating form. Midas emptied his PDW as well before it disappeared behind some trees.

"It's got to be wounded, boss," Midas said as Nomad did a tactical reload of the AK, knocking the old mag free with a reload before rocking it into place. "I mean…shit! How much more can this thing-?" He was cut off by another plasma blast that knocked him to the ground and buried him beneath rubble. Nomad, too, was unbalanced by the blast and fought to keep himself upright. His back fell against one of the trees as he saw something in his line of sight…amongst the bamboo.

"There! Bamboo!" Weaver shouted as he cranked off multiple rounds. Nomad raised his weapon fire the AK on full auto through the bamboo. This time, the creature let out an incredibly painful cry and crashed through the bamboo, onto all fours. It seemed to be fighting to keep itself from falling flat on its face

Nomad reloaded as the thing righted itself, sitting back on its heels. Slowly, as he took aim, the creature reached up and, with a strange hissing sound, like escaping air, removed something from its face.

"I think it's done," Nomad said as he moved around the boulder. "Holt," he called to the ghost. "Get Midas out from under that crap. Weaver, cover me." He slung his rifle and drew out his pistol. If it reached for him, he wanted it to have a smaller target to latch onto.

"I'm on it, boss," Weaver said as climbed onto the stone slabs. He took aim with his rifle and he lined up the creature in his scope. Midas was quickly fished out and helped up by Holt.

"I'm good," he said. "Ready for another round."

Nomad slowly approached the beast, turning on a small flashlight in his hand and saw its face. Weaver saw it, too. Its head was massive, covered in thin spines, black, leathery dreadlock wrapped around its forehead and its mouth…it looked like a deformed crab. The ghost leader came within arm's reach, but the thing didn't try to attack him. Nomad bent down and grabbed the helmet, it was just as large as the head.

"Damn…" Weaver observed through his scope as the thing looked to its left forearm. "That is one _ugly_ motherfucker…"

"Hold!" Nomad called out, taking a few steps back, as the thing tapped something on its forearm.

"Heh, heh, heh," the thing began to _laugh._ At the same time some strange beeping sound began to escalate.

"Uh, guys," Nomad took a few steps back as the thing continued to laugh. "RUN!" He then turned and bolted past the boulders towards the river. Not needing any further encouragement, and realizing just what their leader did, the escalating beeping could mean only one thing, the ghost took off into the jungle after their leader. "Head for the river! Don't stop!"

"This is so not good!" Midas stated the obvious as the beeping intensified as they ran up a hill, half stumbling over rocks and tree branches.

Like 'Jack' in _Fight Club_ , they ran until their muscle burned and their blood vessels pumped battery acid…and then they kept running. The wind began to pick up and blow into their faces, in the direction of the creature. Nomad didn't want to think about what that meant. "Keep going!" They could still hear the beeping.

"Oh, fuck!" Holt risked a glance over his shoulder and saw an ominous glow back at the battle site. He wished he hadn't.

Then, just as they reached the river bank, the beeping stopped. All four jumped down the slope in the one second pause between the beeping and a bright flash of light and the loudest thunder crack they've ever heard.

Everything went white.


	7. Chapter 7

CH. 7: DEBRIEF

The night was getting colder but the campfire kept them warm. They had the usual trappings for a night out in the forest: marshmallows, hot dogs, etc. They had tents and sleeping bags, of course. And Uncle Shaefer had brought his rifle, a .45-70 lever-action. 'Just in case' he'd always say. Everyone assumed it was in case a bear or mountain lion came into camp. But, he _never_ let anyone else even touch it, let alone shoot it. 'Just in case' he always said. No one knew why.

He liked inviting his friends to go out camping near his uncle's cabin. The nights were usually clear enough to see the Milky Way in all its majesty. And, when the moon was full, like it was tonight, you could see the mountains looming in the distance. Forget about what people said about the nighttime skylines of the cities. They were full of shit. The _real_ night life and the _real_ sight to behold at night were right here.

His uncle loved to take them camping, too. They'd fish in the streams and mountain lakes. Build old school style shelters. Hike the trails and watch elk herds in the distance. He always thought elk sounded strange when they made their high-pitched calls.

And at night, they'd settle around a campfire and share stories. This was where man had told countless stories down through countless centuries. It was a natural setting for drama and entertainment. Everyone would share a story. Most of the ones his friends shared were lame and predictable. But, the highlight, saved for last, was always his Uncle Shaefer. He always told good ones. Tonight, he decided to tell his nephew and his friends, in their freshman year of high school, a special story; a story about a demon.

"This story," he said to them dramatically, "happened many years ago, in a deep, dark jungle far away. And in this jungle, ventured a group of mighty warriors. They went in search of some of their friends, who'd disappeared into the jungle."

He scanned across the group. His eyes bore into each of them, as the flames of the fire liked up just under his line of sight. Uncle Shaefer _knew_ how to tell a story. But, tonight, it seemed like his eyes had a different look about them. "But, a great demon had found them first." He leaned forward, almost menacingly. "This demon was like no ordinary monster they'd hunted. This monster did not prey upon the weak or fearful. No. This demon hunted dangerous men."

"Like terrorists?" One of his friends asked.

"If it found them," Uncle Shaefer said. "Soldiers, killers, hunters…anyone who fought, killed or applied violence for a living. It would hunt them, to prove itself a match for them. Now," he rocked back on his log. "These men, burning with anger and a desire to avenge their friends, sought out this demon. The demon that not only killed their friends but butchered them like livestock. But, this demon knew they were out there. It could see them when they could not see it." He grabbed a stick and poked the fire, holding it up to show the flame. The stick burned brightly as the sap within caught fire and added to the makeshift torch.

"It threw fire that went straight through a man…wielding talons that would cleave a giant in two…And could run and climb faster than the eye could see…" He tossed the stick back into the fire. "The demon could hide in plain sight, disappear from view…all except for eyes that glowed with hellfire. If it were watching you, if it were hunting you…it'd make a low clicking growl…as though it were admiring a steak before feasting." His eyes darted back and forth as he described the terrible beast. "Its bones were tougher than steel and its skin was thicker than crocodile hide. And even when pierced, it's green blood glowing in the night, it ignored pain and would become even more angry." He took a deep breath and looked down solemnly, as if fighting back a painful memory.

"One by one, the mighty warriors were cut down and killed. Nothing they did could harm the demon. Sure, one had managed to draw its blood, but that angered the demon and he was the next to be killed. All the warriors were killed except for their leader." He looked around at the kids. "Stripped of his weapons and fighting back the grief of the loss of his men, the leader challenged the demon to a fight. The demon beat him almost to death, only to be crushed by a trap…But!" He raised his voice. "The demon would not be undone…with its dying breath, it cast a spell of devastation upon the jungle, in a desperate bid to take the conquering hero with him." He then grabbed a skewer with a hot dog on it and held it over the fire. "The lesson here is," he said ominously, "no matter how big you are…no matter how strong you are…you can still bleed. And anything that bleeds, can be killed…"

XXXXX

He woke up in the water. He let out a shout as he saw the fish in front of him and reared back, his head popping out of the water. Rain was still coming down as he looked around. Strong hands grabbed onto his harness and pulled him backwards. He reached for his pistol as he looked over at his 'attackers'.

Nomad relaxed as his saw Weaver and Midas dragging him up onto the river bank. Lightning flashed, and Nomad saw Holt was lying off to the side, coughing out river water. After his men pulled him onto land, Nomad let his head fall back onto the mud. "Wha-what just happened?" He asked out loud, to no one in particular.

"I don't know," Midas said as he sat back in the mud, arms draped over his knees. Weaver lay on his side, pulling his rifle back to him. "But we made it. I think…" Midas then looked over at his CO. "We gonna tell Bowman?" Nomad shrugged. It all seemed absurd.

"Think she'd believe us?" The mud began to seep into his pants as the rain water beat down on his face.

"Would you?"

"Fuck no," Nomad said as he picked himself up, making a loud sucking sound as he pulled free of the mud.

At that moment, they heard something that sounded like thunder, but it kept getting louder and louder. Light off to their side drew their attention across the river. They looked up to see something lift off out of the jungle and shoot into the sky like a large, bright bullet merged with lightning. "The ship," Midas observed. "Don't tell me there was another of those things…"

"No," Nomad shook his head. "It was probably programed to leave when its pilot died…or something…"

"Which means we have no way to prove to Bowman what happened out here," Weaver said as he knocked mud free from his rifle. "We've got an elite Unidad specops team wiped out, four dead Katari rebels, a jungle with a clearing made by a wrist mounted alien 'daisy-cutter-slash-MOAB-slash-micro-nuke', almost no ammo left and an experience that will give us 'shit your bed'-level nightmares for a year…"

"And nothing to prove it," Holt agreed. "We got nothing. Fucking bullshit."

Luckily, he still had the AK on his back, his 1911 in its holster. The others appeared to still have their weapons. He then spotted something in the muck. He bent over and pulled it free, smacking some mud away from the face of it. It had several scour marks and scratches and burns; evidence of their assault on the former wearer of the mask.

' _Our only evidence,'_ Nomad said to himself. He looked over at Weaver who tossed over his rucksack. Nomad stuffed the object inside and slung it on his back. "Let's get moving," he said to them. "Find a boat…car…anything." He then started marching down river. "We'll figure out what to tell Bowman on the way back…"

As the storm cleared about an hour later, they came across a cartel MD500 helicopter and its crew taking a break. They had probably landed to wait out the storm. Good fortune for the Ghosts, bad luck for the cartel crew.

Quick shots from Weaver and Midas dropped them without a fight. The ghosts loaded up, Weaver tending to Midas' wounds in the back and Holt took the co-pilot seat. "Let's hope we don't run into any surprises on the way back," the assaulter said to his CO as the bird powered up.

"Don't jinx us," Nomad warned as the helicopter began to lift off the ground. "I've had all the excitement I can handle for the next few days…" Hopefully, Bowman won't have any 'pressing' missions for them once they got back. "Bowman," he got on the long-range frequency. "We're on our way back…"

" _You sound beat, Nomad,"_ she said nonchalantly. _"What happened out there? Radio chatter is crazy. Unidad is going ape-shit."_

"We'll…" He paused. "It's complicated. We'll explain when we get back…"

" _Cryptic…I'm looking forward to it…"_

"You say that now…" Nomad said as he pointed the rotary wing aircraft in the right direction and edged it onward.

XXXXX

She stared at the mask in front of her. At first, she thought it was a prank. Then she thought it was some advanced ballistic face-mask. But the size of it was wrong. That, and the obvious direct hits from multiple weapons indicated that it was as tough, if not tougher, than NIJ Level IV armored plates. And yet, it was as thin as sheet metal but light as aluminum. Which meant it had to be incredibly dense.

"The fuck am I looking at here?" She asked as the operators sank down along the walls. They were still soaked to the bone and stained by mud and muck. Nomad had lost his rifle and was setting his 'borrowed' AK onto the table.

"The only 'proof' that what I'm about to tell you," Nomad said as he stripped off his molle vest, "ever happened…"

"You'll wish you never heard it," Midas said as he lay onto the ground.

"Roswell-level shit, is that what you're gonna tell me?" Bowman asked the lead operator.

"I wish it were a crash…"

He then went into a narration of their op. Locating Maria, tracking the Unidad squad, the skulls the skinned corpses…the ship. "Don't get your hopes up," he said to her when he mentioned a 'ship'. "Apparently it had a fail-safe that sent it back to wherever upon the death of its pilot…"

"So, you killed it?" She asked then caught herself, dropping back into her seat. "Wait, let me guess: no body…"

"There's probably a large crater and scorch mark in the jungle," Nomad explained. "Possibly radioactive, we don't know. But, yeah, we killed it…" He paused for effect. "Eventually and barely." He pointed to the rifle. "Had to use nearly all our ammo to do it and even then, we only managed to mortally wound it."

"Then," Midas chimed in, "just to piss us off one last time and try and take us with it…"

"It activated some kind of self-destruct device mounted to its wrist," Nomad explained. "We recognized what it was and hauled ass for the river. Just barely jumping clear before the big boom." Bowman shook her head.

"That explains the phone call I got from the activity ten minutes before you got back," she stood up and walked to the window. "Seismic sensors all over South America recorded the possibility of a nuclear detonation somewhere in the Andes. Small," she said turning back to Nomad, "but there's already talk at the UN about an investigation."

"Bolivian government probably has people all over the site by now," Nomad observed as he leaned back in his chair, staring at the mask. "They may have even found some of Rojas' men…"

"Luckily," Bowman went on, "Air Force recce flights, regular patrols, haven't detected any increase in radiation, xenon levels or anything else indicating a nuclear detonation." She walked back to the table and picked up the mask. "It'll probably be explained away as some cartel yahoos trying to build the world's largest truck bomb to blow up a Unidad base or something."

"A truck mounted MOAB?" Weaver asked. "In the middle of the fucking jungle?"

"Like you said," she tossed the mask back onto the table. "The only proof of what really happened is right here."

"You gonna send it to Area-51?" Midas asked.

"Groom Lake, Wright-Pat, Crane, Silicon Valley…" She shrugged. "I don't know who the fuck handles this shit." She let out a deep sigh and pulled out her phone. "I've still got to send it up the chain, though. Besides," she glanced out the window, "if that ship was going home…then that means…"

"There's others out there," Nomad said. He stood up and looked out the window alongside her.

"Yeah…"

"This can't be the first time they've been here…" He said ominously. "And I don't think they'll stay away for long."

"What makes you say that?" She asked as she turned to him.

"Something an uncle of mine told me," he said cryptically. "And…a gut feeling…"

 _-End of The Hunt_


End file.
